Her Side Of The Looking Glass
by Penny Dreadful
Summary: Years after Alice's release from the asylum, Wonderland presents an unusual circumstance in the shape of the Cat turned man.
1. Default Chapter

I was going in and out of focus again. It was all right- the party was dull and I had been pleasantly left alone for the time being. No one had much interest in me any longer, London's ton having lost curiosity five years ago when the novelty of a mad girl orphan became the less-thrilling embarrassment of an eccentric spinster. Spinster-to-be, rather. I was only twenty-three and although most of the unmarried women my age were making a last, desperate grab for a husband, no one even suggested I try to do the same. They knew what I knew- no man would come near me. That fact stung, but dully. I had no real desire to wed, but there was a slight indignity in me from not being wanted at all.  
  
Emelia Stanton, the hostess of this lavish, useless affair, was watching me out of the corner of her eye. I've heard she thinks I'm merely a dormant volcano and she fully expects me to snap one evening at a gala of hers and wing strawberry tarts from the tables at the guests, howling all the while. I've been tempted, but not from madness. She's a stuffed, fat little partridge and I'd thoroughly enjoy seeing her faint in genuine shock. Strawberry tarts. If only I were a Knave of Hearts.  
  
And speaking of Knaves, I mused, listening to a pair of trilling old biddies pass me by. One was in quite a state- "I don't know why he's here. No one even knows him. This new set of socialites, they don't care if you're the Devil himself so long as you look fine and have an ornate enough carriage."  
  
The other woman nodded fretfully. "You're so right, Elspeth. He looks like a rotter to me. The way he just strutted in here and gave poor Emelia no chance to refuse him entrance. And those clothes. And that -smile-.he grins like a cad."  
  
"A cat," I corrected unconsciously, not realizing I had spoken aloud. The two women stopped, Elspeth eyeing me.  
  
"A cat? You know him, Alice?" she asked. I looked at her, trying to recall what I had said. "I hope not. He's not the sort you need to be seen with." It took a moment more, the women waiting, watching me.  
  
"I.no. I don't know why I said that. Someone's arrived? Someone Emilia doesn't want here?" I inquired as politely as possible. A small, knotted twist of unease was making itself at home in the pit of my stomach.  
  
"She doesn't even know him, Alice," the other old woman, Regina, told me conspiratorially. "Not a soul does, it seems. He arrived in a carriage that must have cost enough to purchase an entire stable, pardon my rudeness in speaking of it.and he sauntered into the party, smiling like mad, and told Emelia he had just arrived from Devon."  
  
A swayed a little. Elspeth took hold of my elbow, a worried frown coming to her mouth. She was one of the few who didn't fear or abhor me. She considered me a weak, poor unfortunate. "What is it, dear? Are you ill?"  
  
I couldn't find words. I had no idea why, but I knew I did not want to see this new guest. I -must- not see him. "I feel a bit dizzy. It may be the summer heat," I offered feebly. "Please, please excuse me." And taking hold of my skirt to lift its hem from the floor, I fled.  
  
I listened to my jewelry and the rustle of my gown as I ran down the corridor of Emelia's manse. They sounded so inappropriate, so foreign. Bursting into Emilia's suite, I shut the door behind me, slightly breathless. Catching sight of myself in Emelia's full mirror, I tensed. Years ago, I would have been so proud of the image looking back at me. The slender form, the eyes green as summer leaves, the hair a rich mahogany, so stylish and upswept. The gown was beautiful- a gift from an aunt in Devon. Devon. Rutledge's was in Devon. The new guest had said he hailed from Devon. I shuddered and hugged myself tightly, looking away from the mirror. A mirror bearing a reflection of such a woman would never ripple or admit someone into it. The thought was comforting.  
  
Using tricks I had developed over the years, I made myself calm and confident that everything was being twisted out of proportion. I had let my imagination run far away this time. All was well. Leaving the suite, I smiled faintly to myself. I would feign a small illness and go home. Who would care? If Emelia were to do such, all of London would crumble, but no one cared what I did. In fact, I was fairly sure the hostess of this droll affair would be glad to see me leave.  
  
So decided, I entered the ballroom and looked about for Emelia so that I could make brief apology and take my leave. The assemblage was dancing, eating, talking. Again, I remembered myself as a child and how I dreamed of dancing at a ball myself. I had wanted my London debut to be a fantastic affair. Instead, when I was of age to be introduced to the ton, I was fastened to a cot in a place that was a small circle of Hell raised to Earth. The memory made me shrivel, even as my eyes took in the gaiety and splendor I knew was never for me. Espying Emelia, I walked toward her, only to have my elbow caught by a gentle, gloved hand.  
  
Turning, I stared up into the face of a roguishly handsome man, whose eyes were almost golden and whose form was slender but well-cut. His hair was a soft black, stylish with small, neat sideburns and a sheen to the locks that was striking. It was not all of this that took me, though. He was smiling. And, after he murmured my name once, the smile became a grin I recognized so well it made me quake.  
  
"It's not possible," I whispered weakly. He chuckled. A purr.  
  
"You, of all people, know better than to utter such a phrase," he replied smoothly. He was leading me toward the floor, guiding me, an impeccable hand resting on the small of my back. The waltz moved us and, as we danced, I could not stop looking at him. His grin softened, but only slightly, into a roguish smirk.  
  
"How is it that you're here?" I danced lightly, never realizing I had actual grace.  
  
"I thought to ask you the same," he answered in his way of not answering. "I will admit to having a few theories, but nothing solid."  
  
"You never were a very solid creature," I murmured in response. It elicited another grin, another rumbling chuckle, and he drew my head against his chest tenderly. 


	2. Chapter Two

Emelia set upon us the second the waltz was finished. She had on a simpering smile that turned my stomach. It brought me to mind of one of the nurses at Rutledge's who pasted a smile on her face to cover up the horror that was in her eyes. My dance partner leveled his golden gaze at the frail hostess. Emelia took some time before she spoke. "Alice, my dearest, the gentleman had claimed he was not here to find anyone. Perhaps he was not aware one of his friends was in attendance. How fortuitous. Could you introduce us formally?"  
  
I cast a bewildered look toward my companion. He bowed with a deep flourish. "The lady and I have only just met. I had not even a chance to tell her my name. It is Cheshire. Charles Mogansthorpe Cheshire, the Fourth. A pleasure and an honor to meet both of you. Again, I apologize for arriving unannounced, but I do have some business with your father, Miss Emelia. I had no idea I would be interrupting such a grand affair."  
  
That placated her somewhat and she fluttered her tasseled fan in front of her face demurely. "Mr. Cheshire, I am certain father would be pleased to have something that will save him from what he calls 'social drudgery'. Allow me to take you to his study."  
  
"Alice must come, too. This concerns her," Cheshire said silkily. His words left no room for argument. Emelia looked at me, gall in her eyes, and then just nodded, turning and leading us past the guests and to a set of double doors carved in dark mahogany. As we walked behind her, I leaned and whispered to him-  
  
"Charles?"  
  
He nodded. "You know why," he murmured against my ear.  
  
"The Fourth?" I furthered.  
  
"How many suits does a deck of cards have?" was his answer.  
  
"Morgansthorpe?" was my final query.  
  
He grinned blithely, guilelessly. "That was just some nonsense. It sounded pleasantly foppish."  
  
I laughed. It was the first time I had laughed in a long while. Emelia opened the doors, cut another spiteful look at me and then spoke to Cheshire. "Please, make yourselves comfortable and I will tell father you are here."  
  
With an ease of carriage I envied, the feline-turned-man made his way into the darkwood study and dropped his lithe form down into one of the chairs. I sat as well, somewhat more stiffly. Emelia departed and I turned to regard Cheshire. "Why is this happening?"  
  
"Shh. You'll learn," he replied gamely.  
  
Emelia's father was a rotund, waddling, sinister sort of fellow, who trucked in coughing and apologizing for his slow arrival. "The gout," was his excuse. "Damn near crippling me, you know. Can hardly walk."  
  
"Have some more port," Cheshire said, but so low the portly man didn't hear. Emelia's father squeezed himself behind his desk and into his leather, wing-backed chair. He patted his waistcoat pockets as though looking for something.  
  
"Now, then," he garumphed. "'Meely says you're from Devon. I own shares in a bit of real estate there. Never travel to Devon, though. Beastly town. Too much mud."  
  
"It's that certain piece of real estate I've come to speak with you about. My company has taken an interest in it and I have been traveling to the shareholders, buying their stocks. You're the last one, sir." Cheshire was self-assured, calm, complacent. I watched the both of them, that knot coming to settle in my stomach again.  
  
"Hm? Wot? Oh, yes, yes. You're with Jabberwock Ltd., then?" Emelia's father grunted.  
  
"Sir, I -am- Jabberwock, Ltd." Cheshire grinned slowly. "Owner, president, name it. And I can offer you a tempting sum to sell your shares to me. You'd be mad not to accept."  
  
I tensed, watching Emelia's father closely. He worried his mouth a bit and scratched under his cravat. "What is your offer, Mr. Cheshire?"  
  
"Thirteen thousand pounds," Cheshire gave him in reply. I watched Emelia's father squirm in sudden delight in his chair.  
  
"Thirteen thousand! My boy, my boy." He coughed and nodded, over and over. "Done and -done-. I dare say you're getting the poorer end of the bargain, but I'll not let that keep me from accepting."  
  
"You'd be amazed to know I feel I am getting something priceless in exchange." Cheshire turned his head and looked at me steadily, quietly. I looked back, confused.  
  
"Well, now, I don't know what's priceless about a defunct insane asylum," muttered Emelia's father.  
  
I clutched fervently at the arms of the chair and tried not to black out. 


	3. Chapter 3

It was over in moments. The cheque not was written, signed, handed to Emelia's father who grunted over it like a big before a trough full of slops. Cheshire watched the man silently, his form slouched with careless grace in the chair, his curving smile eerie.  
  
"Thank you for being so amenable, sir," murmured Cheshire and rose slowly, smoothly. He held his hand out toward me but I did not accept it. One of his dark brows lifted in silent query, but I ignored it and took my leave of the odious man's study without a word. I head the fat ogre snort as I exited- "Devil of a girl. Mind's gone and left you, you know."  
  
I moved past the dancers, the other damnable debutantes and the pompous gentlemen they were playing coquette to. I ignored Emelia's inquiry as to how the meeting fared, brushing past her and walking into the foyer. A servant was fetching my cloak when a hand on my shoulder turned me roughly about-face. Cheshire loomed over me, his eyes narrowed slightly with worry. "What is the matter?" he asked, the question more of a demand.  
  
"You've bought Rutledge's," I answered bitterly. He inclined his head in assent. "Why? God, -why-? I had lost that place to my past and there I want it to stay."  
  
"The past stays with us until we make certain it -is- the past," Cheshire replied. "Your skin is very soft." I shook his hand from my shoulder roughly.  
  
"What else could that place be, but my past?" I snapped. "I survived Rutledge's-."  
  
Cheshire's eyes became golden slits. "You call this surviving? You're more removed from the world than you were at that God-forsaken asylum. And worse, you're playing a roll to suit the masses. Not that you aren't beautiful," he amended quickly. "But you're not Alice. You're a shell."  
  
"And you coming here in -your- guise, buying Rutledge's.tell me -why-, Cheshire." My voice was thick with upset and pleading.  
  
"I have a few questions I would like answered from that place," he replied. "You came into Wonderland to aid us. I am coming here to aid you. God knows you need it. Plus, I'm curious to see where you spent your time while you were battling to save Wonderland."  
  
"Then go, have your adventure," I said tersely. "I am staying here. I swore nothing could make me return to Rutledge's and I meant it." I turned again and he caught my arm, pulling me to him. His eyes were like black suns.  
  
"You, little girl, are not going to drift through life half awake and miserable. You deserve better. -We- deserve better. You've ignored Wonderland for five years now, and you hate it. We hate it. If you'd like to believe that Wonderland was something you forged inside your mind, do so. You'd actually be correct to a degree. But you -did- forge it. You created it and therefore it has purchase in reality. And now I am here because you're not the only one who demands answers from life. I've been sitting and licking my fur and grinning.alone. Alone, Alice. Did you ever once think that I might be feeling abandoned? That we all might be wondering where the Hell you've gone? You have a responsibility to us, just as we have to you."  
  
I was trying to twist away, to wrench free of his grip. He held fast. "Let me be!" I ordered, anguished. "I want to be left alone, by everyone. By London, by doctors, by -you-! I did my part and saved your world, you mangy, miserable cat. Is this the thanks I get? You not only haunt my dream world, you haunt this world as well? Damn you," I spat. He yanked me hard against his chest, now growling softly. The servant came in with my cloak and he looked only a moment at her. The girl tensed, paled and hurried out again. Cheshire then returned his angry focus to me.  
  
"You want me here, or I wouldn't have been able to come. I've existed solely for you, you spoiled thing. Ever since you were seven-and-a-half, precisely, I have lived only for -you-. Sixteen years, Alice! Sixteen years watching you grow and change and weep and suffer and struggle. Sixteen years of seeing you play and laugh in Wonderland. And I was changing as well. I -did- change, didn't I, Alice?" He gave me a brief shake. "Answer!"  
  
"Yes," I said brokenly. "Yes, you changed. The others did as well, but none so much as you."  
  
"I was a pet at first, an enigmatic guru later, and then a slightly annoying companion you couldn't decide whether was good or evil. But underneath all that, something happened to me. The older you grew, the more notice I began to take of you, Alice. And those lapses in time when you were away from Wonderland, I thought of you. I missed you, at the beginning, as a pet misses its mistress. Then, later, as a companion whose company I enjoyed, and then.when you were battling to save us.five years ago.I saw you as something entirely new."  
  
"Stop!" I cried desperately. "That is mad! That is unthinkable."  
  
"You made me!" he thundered. "You created me and the changes in me were -your- doing! Look at me now! I am here, standing here, bellowing at you in a man's damnable body. I hate it, Alice. I hated it five years ago when I couldn't understand what the Hell was happening with me. And now, since I am here, I am going to confront some demons of my own, and learn what I need to learn so that both of us can actually have a glimmer of hope for happiness in our miserable lives. This is not Wonderland, Alice. This is -your- world, not mine, and for once you are going to guide -me-."  
  
We stared at each other a long moment, his gaze burning into mine. I shuddered and then stepped back. He let me go.  
  
"Alice," he said, his tone so defeated, so lost. "Alice, I love you."  
  
It was a time before I shook my head. "No," I said, achingly. "No. Go away from me. Let me alone." And I turned and fled without my cloak, down into the street, hailing a hansom and stepping in. I looked back to see if he was following after me. He was not. 


	4. Chapter Four

My aunt's apartments on Hugh Street were empty, save for the maid who took my cloak when I arrived. I lit the lamps in the parlor and sat down, trying to control my shaking. The light was dim and I was thankful for it, tucking myself, gown and all, into a chair and resting my head down 'gainst the back of it. I could not even begin to sort out my thoughts, let alone my feelings. It was nearly midnight and I should have been exhausted. I wasn't. I began thinking the most inane things. I wondered where he was staying. I wondered how he managed to become so wealthy. Never mind the fact that Cheshire was a -man- and not a cat. Never mind the fact that he had drawn me into his arms and danced with me.  
  
Rutledge's! He had purchased Rutledge's! Thinking of that place sent another paroxysm of shivers through my body. He wanted me to travel there with him. The man.the cat.-was- mad. Entirely.  
  
The voice in the doorway should have startled me, but it didn't. "I don't wish to go among sane people," he murmured, forlornly.  
  
"You can't help that," I whispered. "We're all sane here."  
  
I looked up and he had doffed his hat, holding it in one of his slender hands, his cloak gone. "Your maid let me in," he explained, as he wanted a few steps into the parlor. He was not grinning any longer. I made a faint gesture toward a settee and he eased himself down into the seat, eyes never leaving my face. "I came to tell you goodbye. I know I've a habit of simply vanishing, but this is a different world and I suppose that means I must do differently."  
  
"Where are you going?" I asked, straightening up a bit, my tone belying my worry.  
  
"Devon," was his answer. He saw me tense and sighed. "Alice, I haven't a choice. Do you understand? This is my time, now. Rutledge's is my task, just as Wonderland was yours years ago."  
  
"I wish you could tell me why," I intoned unhappily. "Why Rutledge's? Why your task?"  
  
He roses and moved to kneel before me. His eyes, golden, lit into my own. "Alice, listen very carefully to me," he said, voice soft, rumbling. "Rutledge's was an evil place, but it did have a function- to sort out your mind and decipher what was there. They didn't know what they were doing and they were soulless devils that didn't have the knowledge or heart to help you. Now I've been given the chance to do what they could not. And the answers are in that asylum. I have to go there, for your sake. For my own."  
  
"But the place has been abandoned for years," I protested.  
  
"It isn't abandoned any longer," he replied, and his answer chilled me. Rising, he nodded to me in farewell and turned, taking his leave of the apartments. I stared after him, but made no move to call him back  
  
The next morning, I informed my aunt and cousin that I had to travel to Devon. They knew what was there and wondered if I was quite myself for wishing to return to that city. I made some excuse concerning a friend I had made at Rutledge's that I wished to pay call to. They agreed, a coach was hired and my things were packed. I bid farewell to my kin, and realized how glad I was to be getting out of London, even if my destination was a grim one. Entering the coach, I settled back.and found myself looking at a familiar smile.  
  
"I knew you'd come," he said, chuckling. "And I'm glad you have, because I really hadn't the faintest idea how I was going to succeed without you." The carriage began moving off.  
  
"What is it, exactly, that you need me for?" I asked pointedly.  
  
"I need you as a guide," was his answer. "You know Rutledge's. I don't. You know this world I do not. You'll be serving in the same capacity I served while you were in Wonderland."  
  
"You were a cryptic guide, though," was my counter to that. He chuckled. He purred when he chuckled.  
  
"As will you be, I have a feeling." Golden eyes twinkled at me. "We'll see what comes of it."  
  
"You're being cryptic -now-," I sighed and he laughed outright. He was handsome, handsome, handsome. Beautiful, really. He must have noticed, for her quieted after a moment and sat watching me with those inscrutable cat's eyes of his. "When you look at me like that, it gives me half a mind to pet you," I teased with slight nervousness.  
  
"I'd make no protest," he murmured low. He began to lean in toward me, and so I turned my face away quickly, looking from the carriage window.  
  
"I hope the weather is pleasant for the journey," I commented, knowing my cheeks were hot, knowing he was watching me intently. After a long moment, he sat back in his seat again and sighed, nodding. He was a cat. He was patient. And I knew what I was feeling at that moment would not be long contained. 


	5. Chapter Five

"How long have you been as you are now?" Alice asked me. I leaned back, giving a slight shrug.  
  
"A few months, maybe a bit longer," I replied, watching her with an easy gaze. She was so tense, so prim. I remembered how she used to be so when she was a child and how endearing I'd found it. Now, it just frustrated me. "It wasn't a rabbit hole, though. A carriage arrived-"  
  
"A carriage?" Alice echoed. "In Wonderland?"  
  
I nodded once. "It arrived and the coachman said he was there to fetch me to you. I was puzzled, naturally, but.curious. Curious enough to go along. The journey only took an hour or so and, when the coach door opened, I stepped out as a man. Disconcerting, the whole business. I'm glad I've never been a ordinary cat, else I might've been prancing about on my hands and knees and meowing." I paused, chuckling lightly at the idea. Alice smiled. Such a lovely, unassuming, good smile she had. "Anyway, the carriage had taken me to a building. A building that housed Jabberwock, Ltd. Everyone seemed to know me as the owner and president, but it took me a bit to settle in well enough to feel comfortable. That's why I didn't search you out straightaway. I also had to deal with buying Rutledge's."  
  
"Was that your own idea- buying the asylum?" she queried. Gods, she didn't even like to say the word 'asylum'. Her eyes shadowed when she said it. It reminded me of how she looked when she arrived in Wonderland five years ago. I spoke quickly in the hopes of making the shadow lift.  
  
"Not entirely. I was so preoccupied with learning and locating you that Rutledge's never really crossed my mind. That is, it didn't until a week or so ago when one of its shareholders paid call to my office. He wanted to sell his shares to me. Why, one can only speculate. Said something about wanting the taint stripped away from him. I think he was touched, if you catch my meaning." I lofted a brow for effect and nodded a slowly and pompously as I could. It tugged a laugh from Alice. That was lovely. I smiled a bit myself and continued. "Naturally, I took the opportunity to be one of import, bought the shares and formulated the plan of buying out the other shareholders."  
  
"And Emelia's father was the last on your list," Alice chuckled.  
  
"I'm not sure if you'll believe me when I tell you this, but I had no idea you'd be there last night," I said with another shrug. "I'd no idea there was even a party going on. I didn't want to waste time sending a letter to Emelia's father, so I just came directly. I knew, once I was inside the house, that you were there, though."  
  
"How?" murmured Alice, her eyes focusing intently on me. Scrutiny was supposed to be -my- strong suit. Her gaze was a little unsettling, in a thrilling sort of a way. I liked the way she stared at me.  
  
"Again, a mystery. I just knew. Good bit of fortune, that, finding you there." I shifted slightly in my seat. If she meant to stare at me like that, I'd stare back. "Do you love me, Alice?"  
  
That broke her gaze quickly enough, and she looked instead out of the carriage window. "No," she replied. Her voice had that prim tone to it. I hated the tone more than the answer.  
  
"Are you certain?" I pressed. I don't know why I was needling her so. She looked disquieted and unhappy. I could not tell if her answer was a lie or not.  
  
"Yes, Cheshire," she sighed. "Yes, I'm certain. Please don't speak on it anymore."  
  
The carriage was quiet. I had never had my heart broken before. It was an ugly sensation, but I refused to relinquish myself to it. Alice had perplexed me as much as I had perplexed her through sixteen years of knowing one another. But my unusual metamorphosis from feline to man had closed a door between her and I. "I don't know how to go back, Alice," I told her quietly.  
  
Her gaze flickered back to read over my face. "I didn't know, either, when I was in Wonderland," she told me. "But I got home nevertheless. So shall you. Don't worry."  
  
"I never said I wanted to go home," I stated, surprised at how clipped my voice was.  
  
"No," Alice replied reasonably. "But do you?"  
  
"Yes, I do, Alice. There's a certain degree of attractiveness to familiarity." I plucked at one of my grey, suede gloves, dropping my gaze down. "And I was not impressed with the ton. At all."  
  
"I've never been impressed with it," Alice sniffed. Prim. Damnable primness. Heat flashed into my brain and I leaned; I grasped her by those slender, upper arms of her and I pulled her across to me. She was afraid. Good, I thought, she needs a bit of healthy fear. Not anxiety, not terror, not dread but just a quick, artful snap of fear. My mouth came down hard on hers and I kissed her. I expected one of two reactions- either she'd struggle or go rigid. She did neither. Her hands came up to palm by bent elbows and her mouth slanted across mine. Her eyes closed, and she took the bruising press of my lips readily. It was my first kiss and I wondered if it were hers as well. The idea of another man kissing her sent a fresh wave of heated anger through me and I deepened the kiss. My fingertips pressed roughly into the flesh of her arms and when I heard the muted, faint mewl of pain she uttered, I thrust her away from me. She was breathless. I was -heated-. Fury and desire were horrid compatriots and I hated having both of them percolating in my blood. "Bloody hell!" I exclaimed, leaning my forearm against the window's side, breathing. Sucking in breaths and closing my eyes.  
  
She was very still. I did not hear her move. I heard nothing but her breathing. My voice was rougher, more of a growl than I wanted it to be. "I want to go back to Wonderland and forget you," I rumbled. Her breathing halted a moment. She didn't answer. Viciously, I continued. "This world's vile and you've become its plaything. You think you're safe and you're willing to be miserable for safety. What you don't know is that nothing is safe for you because you're -mad-, Alice."  
  
"I'm not-." she began to protest feebly, but I hissed a little and she was quiet again.  
  
"Yes, you're mad. You're mad in a way that balances in between Wonderland and this world. You're not insane enough to ever feel completely at home in Wonderland, and you're not sane enough to ever feel at home here." I shook a hand unsteadily through my hair, feeling the anger draining, fading, as well as the lust. "At least in Wonderland you never pretended to be insane. At least you never acted a part. Here you do. Here, you deny your own nature. Why?"  
  
"I'm afraid," she whispered hoarsely. I looked at her. She was bone-white and tensed. "I don't want to go back there. I don't want to be carted off to some asylum again. They did it before; why wouldn't they do it again if I let myself -be- myself?"  
  
I sighed. "Alice, you're not a raving lunatic. You're not a danger to others and you're not even that wild. You've entered another world and it left its residue on you. That's all. They can't lock you up for that."  
  
"Yes, they can," she answered forlornly. "They can and they will. I know it."  
  
"Do you want to be like the rest of London society?" I asked her bluntly. I already knew the answer.  
  
"Yes, sometimes I want it more than anything in the world," she breathed. "I want peace."  
  
"We're going to Devon to find you that peace," I told her. She looked away but I caught her chin and gently turned her face back so her gaze would meet mine. "Peace won't be found in the ton, Alice. Nor will happiness. Nor will-."  
  
The word held in my throat. She said it for me- ".love? Am I so mad and unappealing that you think I can't find a match?" Her tone wasn't short- it was a genuine question.  
  
"No one in this world or another, above or below, -ever- can love you as I can love you," I told her with quiet fierceness. "No one. And any man that falls in love with you will be lost, because you'll never love him in return. He will seem too uniform and plain to you. You'll want to tell him about Wonderland and Rutledge's and you'll hold yourself back because you'll be afraid of what he'll think and say. You know that is the truth, Alice."  
  
She wrenches her face from my fingers and sat back, looking away from me. "I don't want to speak of those things," she said coldly. "Not to you. Not to anyone. And it would be a relief to marry a man you did not remind me of my past."  
  
It stung, but I was too determined to feel it. "We shall see," I answered crisply. 


	6. Chapter Six

The hotel we found to spend the night in was simple but clean. Neither Alice nor myself demanded luxury and the small place was blessedly free of pretentiousness. The last hour we had ridden in almost perfect silence, and I had brooded in true feline fashion. It had come to my attention, in an irksome way, that in Wonderland I had always felt like a man caught in a cat's body. Now, I was a cat caught in a man's body. Either way, it was a nuisance. The driver helped Alice from the coach when we arrived at the hotel and, as she exited, I looked at her for a long moment. Five years had changed her so. Gone was the pinafore, the petticoated dress. Now she wore a gown of dark blue, with a fitted Basque waist and slightly belled sleeves. Her collar was high and pinned with a simple, gold-leaf brooch. Her skirts were gathered slightly at the hips and bustle, pleated and falling in a sweep to end in the slightest of trains. Her little boots, her gloved hands sheathed with dove-hued lace, and her neatly upswept hair all bespoke of a girl transformed into a lady. And such a lady. Her fingers curled about the material of her skirts, lifting the dress' hem from the ground as she walked into the hotel. I followed, nodding to the driver as he took in our trunks.  
  
The rooms were procured easily. Wealth was a benefit here, I noted. Upstairs, I made sure Alice was comfortable in her suite and then went to my own. Inside, I surveyed the place, found it unadorned and homey. I liked it. There was a mirror against one of the walls, thin and long. My own reflection halted me a moment and I turned to regard myself.  
  
I saw not my human form, but the cat I once was, five years ago. I was grinning back at myself, emaciated and mangy. Unconsciously, I flinched, self-conscious for the first time at my appearance. Did I ever truly look that way? Slowly, my steps took me closer to the image reflected in the mirror. The cat slunk forward toward me as well and, finally, I stood just before the mirror.  
  
"This is how she sees you," the cat purred. I tensed. "This is how she'll always see you- wasted, bony, ugly."  
  
I startled, shuddered and slammed the heel of my hand into the glass. It cracked and in the spidery shards my cat self grinned ever wider. "Vanity is the first sign of becoming sane," he crooned. I growled and struck the mirror again. The glass shattered; the cat vanished and I saw my palm run red with blood.  
  
There was a sharp, frantic knocking on the door. "Cheshire!" It was Alice, her voice high with worry. "Let me in, Cheshire! What's happening in there?"  
  
Closing my hand into a fist, I walked to the door and opened it. Alice had dressed for dinner in a gown that showed the slope of her throat and a glimpse of her shoulders. It took my mind off the pain momentarily. A spatter of blood fell and landed in front of her slipper. She gasped and took up my hand in both of hers. I breathed, loving her touch. 'Wasted, bony, ugly.' the Cheshire Cat whispered into my ear and I shuddered, yanking my hand back. "Let it alone," I said through clenched teeth.  
  
Alice steered me back into the room and frowned. "What happened?" she demanded, guiding me to a chair and pushing me to sit. I sat. Her fingers pried mine open and she gasped to see the little shards of glass and the blood. Her gaze traveled to the mirror. "You struck it," she whispered.  
  
"It's nothing," I muttered.  
  
"What did you see?" she asked softly. Damn her for knowing. Her small fingers began easing the glass out of my skin. I didn't wince.  
  
"I saw myself," I told her. She nodded slightly, in understanding, and didn't press the matter further. She didn't have to. Alice knew what a looking-glass could do. When my hand was free of glass, she used a towel and wound it around my hand carefully. I watched her and sighed.  
  
"Do you want to take dinner here?" I asked. She thought on it a moment and then nodded slightly. "Are you sure? Shame to let that gown go unseen."  
  
"You're seeing it. Isn't that enough?" she replied with a touch of playfulness in her tone. I was in no mood to play.  
  
"Is it?" I asked back. She blinked, then exhaled lightly. A stab of contriteness cut into me and I caught her hand in my free one. "Alice.Alice, I'm sorry," I murmured. Another faint nod from her. "I don't know what I am doing at all. I seem to've made a mess of everything since coming here. I'm trying. Truly. Please have patience."  
  
"When I was with you, five years ago," Alice said quietly, "it was very frustrating. Nothing you said seemed to make sense. We never had a moment to simply talk. Every time something terrible happened, you came not to comfort, but to bark at me, pardon the expression. You weren't very tender."  
  
I was confused, taken aback by her words. "Alice, I never-." I began, but her fingertips came up against my mouth and I was silent.  
  
"I saw the White Rabbit crushed and you ignored my tears. You had no care for them." Her voice was tightening and I began to wonder if she was about to cry again.  
  
"There wasn't time, I." I fumbled for an explanation. "Damn it all, Alice, I'm a cat. Not a bloody.look, do you think I enjoyed seeing you huddled over that long-eared.I hated seeing you so miserable. But I knew the only way for you to be happy lay in the salvation of Wonderland. I was direct and curt because I had to be. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, but curtness is not a quality of someone supposedly in love," she retorted. I was quiet a bit, thinking that over.  
  
"I don't know what you would've had me do," I grumbled, frowning heavily. "I couldn't very well say 'Ah, well, Rabbit's dead. Care for a bit of a romp behind one of those toadstools, sweeting? Don't mind the fur or the claws- I'll be as gentle as I can."  
  
She stared at me, absolutely shocked. I didn't care. "I may be insane, Alice, but I'm not -that- insane. And neither are you. I showed you I loved you in the only way I could by being your guide and by not letting you quit. I am not a tender man. Hell, I'm not a tender -cat-. I've never seemed to be able to live up to your expectations." The cat's voice came back again. Wasted, bony, ugly. "I did my best. I'm doing my best now."  
  
"I know, Cheshire," she said softly, and the pad of her thumb brushed across my knuckles.  
  
"And I bloody well hate everything about England," I bit as punctuation to the whole thing. Alice shook her head slightly. I amended- "Except business. Business I seem to have a knack for and I rather enjoy it. Money's the most enjoyable kind of madness, I've noted."  
  
"Are you very wealthy?" Alice wondered.  
  
"Yes," I said with a grim smirk. "Apparently I am, according to what I've been told. I think I have apartments in London and some estate in Northumberland."  
  
"If you stayed here in this world, you'd be very popular with the ton," she noted. I scoffed.  
  
"Until I started bathing myself with my tongue in public," was my response.  
  
She laughed. "You never did! I've never seen you do any such thing."  
  
"As though I'd ever be so ungracious in front of you," I tutted softly. "Really, now."  
  
We ordered our meal and supped in Alice's suite, talking little, as both of us were very hungry. After, a maid came and cleared the dishes away and brought brandied coffee. As I sipped the rich brew, I found myself looking Alice over again. "You know, seeing you like this one would never believe you had slaughtered your way through Wonderland."  
  
She set the cup back atop the saucer with deliberate slowness. "I barely remember that part of it," she admitted. "As though I had seen photographs of someone else doing it, or heard a story told of it. I imagine I would feel much differently if I were acutely aware of my being a murderess."  
  
"Shame Emelia wasn't there for it. She would've made a prime target," I mused. Alice smiled lightly. I took another brief swallow of the coffee. "Tomorrow we reach Devon."  
  
I anticipated her response and it came- that tightening of her form in unease. "Will we go straight to Rutledge's?" she asked feebly.  
  
I shook my head in negation. "I have to retrieve both the deed and the key from one of the old directorate's agents. Then we'll go."  
  
She rose and I followed suit. I could sense a dismissal on the horizon. "Then, it's best I try to get as much sleep as can be gained," she excused. Something was off.  
  
"Alice.what?" I inquired. She looked at me with those luminous, fathomless eyes.  
  
"Familiarity is not always a blessed thing, when wrapped in sanity," she told me. I canted my head slightly.  
  
"I don't underst-." And then I did. She sounded like me. For the first time, I realized what I must have sounded like to her- knowing but not revealing.  
  
"Good night, Alice," I said pithily and pivoted, taking my leave from her suite to return to my own.  
  
~That night, I dreamed of Wonderland. The Caterpillar sat, fat and heavy, on a toadstool. He was smoking a Doubleday pipe, not a hookah. He did not look amused. "Get back here, mangy cat," he demanded. "I can't," I replied. "You must," groused the Caterpillar, smoke tendrils curling about him, smelling of cherry tobacco. "I don't like what's happening here." "What's happening?" I echoed. "We're changing. Hatter's talking about opening a haberdashery. Humpty Dumpty's spouting something about 'all the -Queen's- horses' and I think I've got the gout. The -gout-, Cheshire." "You're going sane," I whispered. "And you're going to catch Hell for it, too," he ruffed. "Do what you need to do and come home, do you hear?" "But it's her world, not mine," I protested. "How can I-." "She's being altered by you," he interrupted. "Don't you see it, you flea- ridden feline? You tell the girl you love her and you kiss her and you're there as a man. What do you expect her to do? One piece of Wonderland has crossed over and so we're all crossing over in some way or another. It shan't stop until you're back in Wonderland." I wanted to say more, ask more, but it was eight and the maid was knocking on my door and I knew I was awake again.~ 


	7. Chapter Seven

We took our breakfast in the hotel's small dining room. Tea and some very rich cake with bits of walnuts in it. Alice told me the name but I forgot it promptly. As we sat, sipping and chewing and chatting, it suddenly struck me- the two of us, dressed meticulously, taking our tea and conversing so pleasantly had very little to do with the pair that had traversed Wonderland five years ago. It was something of a shock to recognize the chasm between our two selves. It was amusing and frightening at the same time. Alice was resplendent in a fawn colored traveling gown, the jacket trim and the skirts falling to the tops of her ivory shoes. I, being a cat, had taken to the pleasure of dressing and found it great fun and very satisfying to outfit myself. I supposed my sense of fashion was either terrible or perfect because people looked our way often.  
  
"You should have come here as a hunchback," Alice surprised me by muttering.  
  
"Why, in Heaven's name?" I said, a brow lifting.  
  
"Those women are making idiots of themselves," was her cryptic response. Women? I wondered. My gaze traveled about until it lit on three ladies of Alice's age or thereabout. They were watching us and murmuring low to one another. It took a moment for me to understand that it wasn't -us- they were watching. It was -me-.  
  
A slow, devilish grin came up out of habit and I leaned toward Alice. "Why, do you suppose, do they call it 'mad jealously', sweeting?"  
  
She didn't even look up from buttering a piece of toast, speaking coolly. "Think on what I did to the card guards and ask me again."  
  
I laughed aloud, shaking with mirth. "There, now, is the Alice I remember."  
  
She made no reply and I shook my head in bemusement. How she could think any woman could compare with her amazed me.  
  
Within an hour we were traveling the highway again, the coach moving at a good clip. Alice would shift from being loquacious to eerily silent and I attributed the odd behavior to nervousness. I couldn't blame her.  
  
We reached Devon by mid afternoon and the weather was pleasant, surprisingly. The agent lived on Declan Street and it was there we traveled, the carriage bringing us and then waiting. I had booked rooms at a bed and breakfast near the asylum and we would travel there after business was completed.  
  
The brownstone building was neat and unassuming, two stories. We ascended the narrow stoop-steps and entered the foyer. There, a gentleman in a grey suit, whose eyes were rather close-set and whose mustache sorely needed a trim, greeted us. I detest poor grooming. He asked us to follow him and we did so. I could hear Alice's boot heels with their staccato rhythm echoing as they stepped against the polished marble floor. She kept her chin uplifted slightly, every inch the proper lady. But the wan expression she wore told me she felt anything but proper. At the end of the hall was a heavy, oaken door and a small, brass plaque beside it that read-  
  
Mister Cottontail, Estate Agent  
  
I heard Alice sigh, almost regretfully and she looked over at me, not speaking. My head canted slightly, regarding first the plaque and then her. The grey-suited man knocked and then opened the door slightly. "Mr. Cottontail, sir, Mr. Charles Cheshire is here."  
  
A slightly nasally voice responded. A voice I knew. "Ah! Good, good, send him in, Mr. Tempus-Fugit."  
  
We were admitted into the cluttered office. Seated behind the desk was a thin man with stark white hair, a slightly curving nose and small eyes. He smiles when he saw us. "Welcome, welcome, Mr. Cheshire. Splendid to see you. Please, do have a seat." He rose and gestured to the two chairs opposite the desk. Alice nodded to him gently and he returned the nod, almost as though they had met previously. They couldn't have met before, to my mind, and it was bloody confusing. I sat. She sat. Mr. Cottontail sat. "I'm dreadfully sorry I don't have tea ready for you," Mr. Cottontail sighed. "It's been a busy morning. It's always busy, though, don't you know- never enough time for anything. I'm always running behind schedule and it's such a bother. I do hate being late."  
  
"We understand," Alice said gently. I cast a quick glance over to her. She sat, nonplussed, on the chair as demurely as could be. Giving my attentions back to Mr. Cottontail, I saw his nose wrinkle slightly. The words Alice spoke to me last night came back into my mind. 'Familiarity is not always a blessed thing when wrapped in sanity.' She knew. She knew we'd find the White Rabbit here and she knew he'd be this way.  
  
"Mr. Cottontail," I started, a little disoriented, looking at him in that guise. "We came to fetch the deed and key to Rutledge's asylum."  
  
"Ah, yes! Of course." He stood and nodded vigorously. "Had no time this morning to take it out of the safebox. Please, keep your seats and I'll return presently with it. Won't take but a moment. Off I go."  
  
And off he went, exiting the office. I exhaled sharply and leaned back, darting my gaze to Alice. "Why didn't you tell me?" I demanded. She shook her head slightly.  
  
"Cats can't be kept on a leash," was her reply. I started to bite out a retort, then calmed.  
  
"I'm not sure I can take this," I muttered. She gave no reply. We waited. Five minutes, ten. Fifteen. Finally I stood and went to the door, opening it. Mr. Tempus-Fugit was there and he smiled. "Where is Mr. Cottontail?" I asked.  
  
"Ohh, Mr. Cottontail was running very late for an appointment at the Tusk & Shingle, one of his biggest business accounts" he answered brightly. "He hopped out of here just a few moments ago."  
  
"But the deed and key!" I exclaimed. "Where are they?"  
  
"Mr. Cottontail took both with him, sir," the man stated. I blinked, tensed and turned, walking quickly back into the office and clasping Alice firmly by the wrist. She startled, and rose when I pulled her up.  
  
"What is it?" she wondered aloud, staring at me. I tugged her down the corridor, speaking as I went.  
  
"The skittery rabbit fled with the key and deed," I said tetchily. "Off to some other business. We'll have to go after him."  
  
"What business?" she asked. We left the brownstone and I led her down the steps and back inside the waiting carriage. Impatiently I rapped on the roof and raised my voice.  
  
"Take us to the Tusk & Shingle," I called. "Make inquiries if you have to, but find it." The carriage moved off. Alice was looking at me curiously.  
  
"Tusk & Shingle?" she echoed. "What kind of place is that?"  
  
We soon learned the answer. At he air was spiced with brine and we reached the shoredocks. "Oh, Alice," I murmured, beginning to understand. The carriage deposited us at a ramshackle little pub bearing a faded, swinging sign that said 'The Tusk & Shingle.'  
  
"An oyster bar," Alice whispered. I chuckled, grimly.  
  
"It seems Mr. Cottontail's clients are a walrus and a carpenter. How clever." I exited the coach, as did Alice, and the two of us entered the pub. I espied the walrus immediately- an enormously fat man behind the bar, serving pints to the local fishermen. He was shucking fresh-caught oysters between pouring out the dark stout. It was an unsavory place, but the round, full scent of roast shellfish was tantalizing. Alice and I made our way to the bar.  
  
The walrus lumbered over and nodded to the pair of us. "Lost, are ye?"  
  
"No, we're looking for someone," I replied smoothly. "A Mr. Cottontail."  
  
"Eh, really?" guffawed the walrus. "'E's in th' back with m'partner." He jerked a meaty thumb toward a door. "Jus' gerron back there."  
  
We went as directed, opening the door and heading into the back room. The kitchen was busy, steam rising and the air pungent with the smells of seafood. Chowder in a huge pot, fish stew, fried haddock, chips. Past the kitchen was another door. I rapped on it and soon it was answered by the carpenter- a short man with large hands and an even larger nose. "Yeh?" he said without preamble.  
  
"We're here to see Mr. Cottontail," Alice said politely.  
  
"Wot for?" sneered the carpenter. Alice lifted a brow.  
  
"He has something that belongs to us," she replied softly. "And we'd like him to give it to us. Please tell him we're here." The please sounded more like a command than a term of etiquette. I had begun to think Alice had lost her formidable edge. I was mistaken. It heartened me.  
  
The carpenter eyed Alice and I a moment more, then nodded and opened the door wide. Mr. Cottontail was in the small, cramped, rather dirty office. He seemed surprised to see us. "Oh! Yes, Mr. Cheshire. What can I do for you?"  
  
"You left, Mr. Cottontail, without giving us the items we had requested," I answered irritably. "May we please have them?"  
  
"Items? Items?" He looked thoroughly confused.then gasped and nodded frantically. "Yes, yes! The key and deed. Terribly forgetful of me. So sorry, so sorry." And he dug into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew a long, parchment envelope, turning it over to us. Alice reached out with trembling fingers and accepted it. I nodded slightly.  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Cottontail. Good day to both of you," I said and turned. Alice didn't move for a moment, then pivoted and followed me. Her arm slipped through mine as we walked. It was a good sensation and I glanced down at her. She was white-faced again. Impulsively, I leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. She did not protest and it made me -grin-. 


	8. Chapter Eight

After leaving the Tusk & Shingle, Cheshire and I decided to send the carriage ahead to the bead and breakfast while we walked there. It was a pleasant day and both of us were none too eager to climb back into the coach. He offered his arm. I took it, hand resting easily on his forearm.  
  
"Why are they here, I wonder?" I mused. It took him a moment to realize I meant the denizens of Wonderland.  
  
"Do you think you're meant to know?" was his reply. I bit off a sharp sigh.  
  
"Cheshire, it makes no sense. Devon populated by beings from Wonderland? Were they always here? Why don't they recognize us as we do them? I would say that I dreamed them up, but I don't think I'm dreaming."  
  
"Alice." He began carefully. "You weren't dreaming, per se, in Wonderland either. Yet you found nothing too unsettling about a deck of cards trying to kill you."  
  
"It's different," I said adamantly. "In Wonderland, logic did not apply. Here, it does."  
  
"You're right," he murmured. "But I wouldn't try to untie the knot before you're sure what it's holding together, Alice."  
  
We walked on in silence a time. I was lost in other thoughts- thoughts of tomorrow and Rutledge's. I hated that the asylum was part of my future again. And still.something was coming over me, a sense that the place wasn't going to be -my- nightmare, but his. And why not? A place devoted solely to the extermination of any type of mental deviancy. Cheshire would be walking into a slaughterhouse. Did he realize this? I stole a glance at him. Again, as I had so many times before, I was struck by his handsomeness. Slightly androgynous, fair, eyes and hair so dark. Sometimes it was all too easy to forget the striking, wealthy, alluring man beside me was actually a feline from another place. I knew he looked at me and found it hard to imagine me as I once was. Girl and cat, now lady and gentleman.  
  
The bed and breakfast was called the Black Pepper Inn and Cheshire and I read the sign with a waning sense of surprise. The proprietor, a horse- faced, matronly woman with a snappish temper, gave us the keys to our rooms, which were on the second floor.  
  
A maid came and aided me in unpacking my trunks, Cheshire moving off into his own room with his things alone. Supper was to be served in the dining room presently, and I changed from my traveling gown into an evening dress. An inane thought struck me as I laced my stays- what would I wear tomorrow? The query made me laugh aloud, amused by the idea of selecting a dress to go to an asylum in.  
  
Cheshire met me in the hallway. I slipped my arm through his and he smiled, tipping me a wink as he descended the stairs to take supper with the other guests. He helped me into my seat and I chuckled, speaking as he sat himself next to me. "When did you learn to be so gracious?"  
  
"I always knew," he replied softly. "And there were many times, when you returned back home to London, that I would wonder how it would feel to be able to offer you my arm, or open door for you or help you into a carriage."  
  
"But you never-" I began and he interrupted gently.  
  
"I had paws, Alice. I couldn't offer you my arm."  
  
I fell silent and one of the staff set bowls of sherry and cream bisque down in front of us. Eating, I saw one of the guests lift his glass to Cheshire and I. He thought we were newlyweds and Cheshire grinned at him gamely. I flushed. There was no sense in correcting the gentleman- it was scandal enough that I was traveling alone with my man I was not engaged to. The façade was a sound one. No one need know we were keeping two rooms.  
  
The bisque was followed by roast chicken, garnished with rosemary and stuffed with sage and onion breading. Cheshire, being a strict carnivore, had sampled the soup merely because cream was involved and now only deigned to eat the meat from the chicken, leaving the breading untouched. There was a Cumberland sauce with the chicken that I liked, but Cheshire eyed it askance and shook his head. Baskets lined with wax paper bore heaping mounds of puffed potatoes, light as air. Again, Cheshire would have none. Finally, burnt cream pudding and I coaxed Cheshire into trying a bit of it. He did and said it wasn't to his tastes.  
  
We took tea and brandy in the social room, some of the male guests smoking cigars. Cheshire did not care for the smoke, his senses sharpened in the feline way and the smoke too cloying. At ten, we both retired to our rooms, Cheshire pressing his cheek to mine briefly, impulsively and murmuring that everything would go well tomorrow. Heartened and left with the urge to follow him into his room, I exhaled and entered my own instead.  
  
There was a small, gilt box on my pillow. It was intricately etched and set with brilliant stones and I gasped, thinking it a gift from Cheshire. I slipped aside the latch and opened the lid, revealing a small, plain-glass phial sealed at the top with wax. A small card attached to the phial had a neatly inked line of print-  
  
~Emknird Apothecary~  
  
I whimpered, recognizing the phial. It was the exact same kind of bottle as the laudanum phials that I had been given Rutledge's. My palm slammed the lid shut and I snatched up the box, flying to the window, thrusting it open and hurling the box from the window. I listened for the sound of it hitting the cobblestones- there was none. Shutting the window and latching it, I drew the curtains closed and stood there, breathless and shaking madly. For a time after my release from the asylum, I had fought an addiction to laudanum. The ladies of the ton often took it to cure headaches and I saw many of them waste away from the craving it created. I had no idea who had sent the box, but I knew that whatever Cheshire had seen in he looking glass the night past was linked to it.  
  
It took me some time before I could make any real effort to sleep. Nestled down in my bed, I fought the urge to go and see Cheshire. I knew the time for my seeking help from him was past- now he had to seek it from me.  
  
I finally was dragged down into an uneasy, heavy sleep. It ebbed and flowed and, some indefinable time later, I felt the bed depress slightly, as though a new weight had come onto it. I opened my eyes slightly, and saw a shadowy outline. Clutched tightly still in half-slumber, I murmured something incoherent.  
  
"Alice," Cheshire murmured. His voice was purring, lulling me back into relaxation. I sighed and he sighed with me. One by one, I felt the bed sheets being drawn down, off my body. It felt safe, good. I smiled dreamily and reached a heavy hand out to touch Cheshire as he was there at the foot of the bed. I couldn't seem to find his form, but then he -was- there, touching my ankle. His touch was very light, very warm and it sent me drifting further down into a marvelous languor. He was murmuring to me all the while, words that were articulate, but I couldn't comprehend them. It didn't matter. His touch mattered and that was all I focused on. Silk pads of fingertips dragging up along the inside of my calf to toy a bit with my knee, shaping it up to bend slightly. My other knee crooked to match its sister. Now he purred and eased them apart, cajolingly. My bare feet shifted outward, slid as the balls of them pressed 'gainst the mattress.  
  
My nightdress seemed to drag itself over my legs and up to my thighs of its own accord. For a moment, I tensed, but then he was stroking the flesh of my thighs and everything was sweet and heated again. I could sense him leaning over my legs, watching me. The weight of his golden gaze sent a rough shudder through me and it made him laugh faintly, sibilantly. Two fingers were sweeping up the inside of my leg, down again, and then up once more. I felt weightless and wonderful. There was not a thought of protest in my mind, nothing but the anticipation of what he might do to me. Pleasure was coming. Heavy, rich pleasure that I was more than ready to welcome.  
  
I felt, then, his gorgeous, onyx hair tickling my knees, then my thighs. His head had bowed between my open thighs. The nightgown slithered its way to gather about my hips. Cool air hit my now-bared sex and I -shivered- at the abruptness of it and how starkly it showed that I was slick and heated there.  
  
"This, ah, this." I breathed and it sucked another chuckle from Cheshire. Just before his mouth claimed me, I sensed something was wrong. Something was off. His tongue met my wet sex and I cried out at the jolt of sensation it elicited, feeling the pleasure mix with my foreboding. Another lapping, and I shook my head faintly, reaching to touch his hair. His tongue felt rough as it swept up a third time. He was licking me as though I were a dish of cream. His rough, artful tongue. Rough. My fingertips met him and felt soft fur. I went rigid, hand crawling over his head to discover two furred ears, and whiskers that tickled the inner flesh of my thighs. Blinking to sharp consciousness, I choked and raised my head, staring down. His own head raised as well, his golden eyes bearing black, oval pupils. He was a cat. and he -grinned- at me. I began to scream.  
  
Hands clasped my shoulders, shaking me. "Alice! Alice, for God's sake."  
  
I wheezed, coughed and blinked my eyes open, wildly confused. I was in my room and Cheshire was grasping at me with -human- hands, rousing me firmly from the nightmare. His eyes were filled with concern. Human eyes, golden as they were. I moaned and he drew me to his chest, arms winding about my frame. "Hush, now," he murmured. "Hush, sweeting. No more screaming. You scared me to death and now I've only five lives left. Hush."  
  
I took in steadying breaths before nodding. "I'm all right," I managed. He eased me back down onto the bed and looked me over to confirm the claim. "Truly, Cheshire, it was only a nightmare and I've learned to get over them quickly."  
  
Another moment he gazed at me, and then nodded, rising slowly. "I'm only just next door Alice, if you need me," he said. Turning, he started for the door.  
  
"Cheshire," I called after him. He paused and looked at me, a brow lifted. I canted my head as it rested on the pillow. "Five lives left? When did you lose the others?"  
  
"I died once each time you left me in Wonderland, and again when you told me you did not love me."  
  
He left the room and I wept myself to sleep. 


	9. Chapter Nine

The morning was a dull, clamshell grey and it mirrored my mood exactly. I'd slept poorly, which is quite a feat for a cat. Usually we can sleep under any condition. I rose early, but not as early as Alice. I could hear movement in her suite, sensitive to sounds as I was to sight. I cleaned up and dressed, refusing to appraise my appearance in the looking-glass. I was too afraid that the emaciated feline would be inside of it, grinning at me.  
  
I called for Alice at her room's door, and she met me with much the same expression as I wore. She looked drawn, tired. It did not make for an auspicious beginning to our day. We said little to one another through a sparse breakfast of toast and tea. Neither of our appetites was keen, I knew. I had thought, perhaps, I might find myself trying to forestall the advent of journeying to Rutledge's. I was mildly surprised to feel an anxiousness to get there. My fate was there and I knew it was ridiculous to try and shirk it.  
  
We hailed a hansom and I assisted Alice into the cab, our gloved hands clasping gingerly as she stepped up with a rustle of skirting and bustle. I would never be tired of looking at the lovely woman, and a pang struck me for having dragged her so far from safety and her home solely for my sake.  
  
The ride was a smooth and silent one, myself riding backwards, watching Alice. She would only look at me occasionally, those pale green eyes flickering hither and thither uncertainly.  
  
"Alice, it will all come to a right end," I told her suddenly. I felt as though I should say -something-. She regarded me a long moment before answering.  
  
"You're going to lose so much," she murmured vaguely.  
  
I had long since become accustomed to enigmatic statements. "Then I lose much," I retorted, more harshly than I wanted. "It doesn't matter. It has come this far and I will not stop until an ending's been reached."  
  
Alice merely nodded and looked past the window at the scenery again. I exhaled faintly 'neath my breath and shifted in my seat. What had she dreamed last night to make her so shaken and pallid this morning? What had happened that had dulled her this much?  
  
Rutledge's was at the end of a narrow, cobbled street far from the hustle of the city. The houses that had been there when the asylum was built were quickly abandoned, for no one wanted to leave near the place and hear the screams and shrieks of the mad. The entire street was void of life, it seemed. The hansom deposited us at the rusted gate and the driver spurred his horse to hurry away. We were left, standing side by side, facing the asylum.  
  
It was an imposing presence when it had been manned. Now, with disrepair and overgrowth choking it, it looked even more ominous. I sent my gaze down to Alice standing beside me. She was regarding the place without expression. Nothing to read on her features, at all.  
  
"They're waiting for you," she told me. I understood, then, what this was. This was -my- Wonderland. My inner demons. Rutledge's was my battleground to spar with whatever it was I needed to conquer. Unfortunately, it wasn't as clear cut as Alice's guilt over her parents' deaths. I didn't -know- what skeletons were in my closet.  
  
I wanted so badly to take her hand, but I restrained myself and curled my gloved hands into fists. "This place legally belongs to me, " I said as I plucked the keys from my waistcoat pocket. One of them fit the gate, and the iron swung back to admit us. "That must mean something."  
  
"It means that you're not trespassing," Alice replied, both reasonably and cryptically. "It means everything here belongs to you, and you alone."  
  
As we traversed the front walkways and came upon the door, I noticed something lying there on the worn, holed mat. A scalpel, glinting lightly. As I stopped to pick it up, Alice caught my arm. For the first time that morning, I saw sadness and longing in her eyes. "It's where you begin," she told me softly. "I don't know what's happening to me, but I know there is going to be a wall between us from the moment you touch that blade to the time this is done."  
  
"It's your turn to come and go as you please, and grin at -me-," I replied. As she released my arm, I caught her about her trim little waist and dragged her against me, my mouth coming to hers again. A brief kiss, but a sure one. When I withdrew, I saw wet tears in her emerald eyes. "Have a little faith, Alice," I entreated, and then plucked up the scalpel.  
  
As I did, she vanished. I was left alone at the entrance to Rutledge's Asylum, armed solely with a polished scalpel and my wits.  
  
The odds were, most certainly, against me. 


	10. Chapter 10

Reality is a terrible thing to one who is unused to it. I entered the foyer of Rutledge's quietly, glad for that feline quality left to me. The place smelled of stale sickness; the rug on the floor was frayed and rent in a few places and the paper on the walls was water stained and peeling. It had been a few years since anyone had been here, but this looked far more aged and decrepit than I would have imagined a building could garner in just three years. No, this asylum had been worn and broken long before its gates closed. People had actually lived here, like this. The idea made me shudder.  
  
I exited the foyer through a door straight ahead of me, and entered a large, open room that hosted a wide desk at the far end and a set of double doors to my left. There were papers scattered both on the desk and on the floor around it, and there was a chair tipped onto its side near the desk as well. This made little sense to me- Rutledge's was closed down, not abandoned. Why would there be paperwork left? Curiously, I tucked the scalpel into my belt and moved to lift a few sheaves of paper from the desk, perusing them.  
  
YOU, the first paper said. I blinked. 'You'. That was all. I dropped the paper and peered at the one under it.  
  
MUST. I swallowed. There was a slight gnawing in the pit of my stomach. I dropped the second sheet and eyed the third.  
  
LEARN. The paper fell from my fingers.  
  
NOT, said the next.  
  
TO, the next. My hands were shaking, and the papers were falling like snow drifts, downward in flurries.  
  
BE  
  
SO  
  
EASILY  
  
DISTRACTED.  
  
That was the last. I stiffened, turned, and saw a gaunt figure in a dingy uniform that must have, at some point, been white. His eyes were steely; in his hands was a straightjacket. When he spoke, it was raspy, as though there was no saliva in his mouth whatsoever. It made his words dry, but thick. "Come on back to yer cell now, Charles. Come on. Ye don' want us t'have t'force ye now, do ye?"  
  
I backed up, slowly, staring at the orderly. It wasn't possible that there were actually people here any longer. Was it? I could've mulled over the answer for hours, but there was no time in the present for such musings. The orderly began to advance and, suddenly, he withdrew a hypodermic from his pocket. I stiffened and leapt to the right as he hurled it at me. That was NOT proper procedure. What was going on? Was this the sort of place my Alice had been a prisoner to for so long?  
  
The orderly dived at me and, almost instinctively, I snatched out the rusted scalpel from my belt and jabbed it upward against him. He groaned, softly, and crumpled to the ground, stomach bleeding profusely. I was shaking, badly, and realized for the first time how it must have felt to've been Alice, traveling Wonderland and murdering every step of the way. Stepping back, I watched as the orderly's body seemed to melt away. As it did, a faint orb of softly glowing azure replaced the corpse. I stared at it. Meta-essence? It couldn't possibly be. Not here in reality.  
  
"What is it?" I murmured.  
  
"Disbelief," came the answer. I spun about, to see.Alice. My Alice, but clothed in a straightjacket and a dirty gown from the asylum. She looked younger and harrowed, thin, her eyes large and dulled, hair lank and limp. "Or sensibility. Whatever you'd like to call it."  
  
"Alice." I said, distraught at seeing her so. There were small, red burn marks on either temple. What had they been doing to her? "My God, Alice, get out of here."  
  
"If they hurt you, you can use the Sensibility to heal. They're not really hurting you, after all, and the Sensibility reminds you of that, and your wounds go away." She kept speaking as though she had not heard me. "Unfortunately, it has side effects."  
  
"Side effects? Such as?" I inquired.  
  
"You're not a very sensible creature," was her answer, spoken with a sigh. She turned and walked through the double doors, vanishing from my sight. I turned back to the orb of Sensibility and tried to touch it. My fingers passed through- since I was unhurt, it did nothing for me. Hurriedly, I chased after Alice. My hands knocked open the double doors, and I found myself in a long corridor lined with doors. The chandeliers above me flickered dimly, their light ambient. The hall was empty only for a moment. 'Round the corner at the opposite end stalked three orderlies, and two distinguished looking gentlemen in house jackets. Doctors. I readied my scalpel, but was unprepared for the onslaught that was thrust at me.  
  
The doctors were carrying instruments that looked rather like box cameras. Aiming them at me, the implements shot forth a burst of electroshock. It hit my chest and the pain sent me staggering back. The orderlies withdrew hypodermics and flung them. The first round, I managed to dodge. The second struck me in the thigh and in the shoulder. I felt the liquid being pushed into my veins and I groaned, softly.  
  
"Take him back to his cell," said one of the doctors, voice clipped and precise. My sight began to blur a little. Desperately, I hurled my scalpel at one of the doctors. It buried itself in his sternum and he choked, dropping to his knees. I did the same when a wave of drowsy dizziness came over me. My sight was unfocused and I felt weak. When the orderlies took hold of my arms, I had no strength to protest. I watched, blurrily, the doctor's body disintegrate and form an orb of Sensibility. As I was dragged away, I tried to reach the pulsing light, but it was impossible. "Alice." I murmured, and then lost consciousness. 


	11. Chapter 11

Wonderland was dark, yes, but it did have a certain macabre charm in places. This place, this dank and choking asylum was an entirely different story. I awoke in a cramped, clammy room whose walls were made of rough mortar and cement, and whose floor was bare, gritty and cold. There was no light source in the room- a dingy, ambient glow filtered in from the corridor outside though a thin, rectangular window that had no pane and rested low on the metal door. I sat up, momentarily thankful that I was not fastened to the cot on which I lay. The whole room was pallid, the gruel- colored light casting only enough illumination to see that, other then the barred cot, there was only a cracked, porcelain chamber pot in one corner of the room. The headboard of the bed, rising only three inches from the mattress that hosted no bed sheets, was outfitted with eyehooks to accommodate restraints if they were ever employed. This was not a hospital. This was a prison.  
  
As I rose to my feet, an unsettling unease clenched at my insides. The room, the whole of Rutledge's, smelled of camphor, lye and something sickly sweet I did not recognize and, somehow, did not want to recognize. I stepped to the door and crouched enough to peer through the small window. The corridor outside was empty. I slipped my hand through the window, taking a hold of the door, and tugged.  
  
It opened.  
  
Easing out into the hall, I was assaulted with low sounds. I say 'assaulted' because even though it was not a loud cacophony, it was an attack on my psyche just the same. A plague of soft sobbing, wails, mutterings, moans slunk from every one of the corridor's doors, through those sickening little windows. The carpeting beneath my feet extended the length of the long hall, threadbare, and the whorls and paisleys of its design seemed to have retreated, cravenly, into the threads of the weave and become shadows only. The only thing that seemed new here were the electric light fixtures- single bulbs that hung from chains attached to the ceiling. There were sconces as well on the sullied, water stained walls and these hosted gas lamps. Even with two means of lighting, the corridor was dim, shrouded.  
  
I had not realized exactly how I was outfitted until this moment. There were two surprises here. One was that I had somehow been changed into a pair of cambric pants and shirt, washed but obviously not new. In fact, there were two darkened, faded but unmistakable stains on the inside of each sleeve. The second surprise was that my scalpel was still with me, tucked into the waist of the loose cambric pants. This I took hold of and, so armed, began to move down the corridor.  
  
The voices I heard were varying, but I could tell there were many children. They whimpered for their parents, or called out asking for food or water. I tried to shut their suffering out of my mind until I heard one of them say something unexpected.  
  
"Here, kitty."  
  
I froze and turned, slightly, staring at the door from which the call had come. There was silence from there a moment, then- "Here, kitty. Come here."  
  
I took a few steps closer and then crouched, peering at the slit-window. Behind it, I saw a pair of pale green eyes. Small eyes, obviously belonging to a child. "I'm here," I said to the small thing.  
  
"The seventh door. On the left." A young girl? It was difficult to tell.  
  
"What's there?" I asked, voice as hushed as her own. "Alice? Is she there?"  
  
"She will be. She will be," touted the child, and a weak, squealy giggle followed. "Seventh door, seventh door.I want my momma." And the giggles twisted into a sudden sob, pitiful and frightened. "Momma.momma, come get me. I'm scared. I'm scared of here. Momma.!"  
  
I stumbled back from the plaintive cry, eyes widening and revulsion knotting in my stomach. Turning, I hurried down the hall counting doors until I had come to the seventh. It was another cell, but the door was cracked open, the lock unfastened. There was no light, no sound. I regarded the door for a long moment, realized I had no better plan than this, and walked in.  
  
There was a sweep of inky darkness that rushed over me, I heard the door close, and then the room cleared.to reveal one of the small meeting rooms housed in the brownstone building at Jabberwock Ltd. The four side chairs at the table were empty, as was the one at the head closest to me. The other end chair was, however, occupied. A golden-haired man, perhaps thirty five, with tanned features and a tawny suit sat, hands folded on the table, looking at me.  
  
"Sit, Charles," he invited. The voice was familiar to me, but couldn't place it. I nodded and drew out the chair, easing myself down into it. "Thank you for being prompt."  
  
"Where am I?" I asked him, the feeling of dread being soothed away by his voice. Something about him - his strength, his poise, his tone - made me feel safe.  
  
"There many answers I could give you to that question," the man replied. "I could tell you that you're back at the Asylum, hallucinating this due to acute schizophrenia. Or, I could tell you that you stepped through a portal and have returned to your offices on King Street. Perhaps you'd prefer to hear that you never left London, and that you've dreamed all the events up to and including this moment. Or, of course, I could just say that you're back in Wonderland again." He sighed, a little care worn. "I could call you Charles, or I could call you Cat. I could do many, many things, but the choice is up to you."  
  
"The asylum.Alice is there. She's being hurt. This isn't about me," I said emphatically. The man lifted his hand to quiet me.  
  
"It -is- about you," he refuted. "When Alice was in the asylum three years ago, did you care about her being hurt then?"  
  
I started to answer sharply.then realized I couldn't. He was right. "No. All I cared about was her helping to save us. But I didn't know what they were actually -doing- to her in that place. I didn't know."  
  
"Well, now you do know. There's a choice. This has all been about a choice. Alice was never given one, in Wonderland, but you have been, in this reality." He leaned back, and kept careful eye on me.  
  
"I have to decide if I am going to stay here, or return to Wonderland and become the Cat again," I said, quietly.  
  
He nodded.  
  
"And I have to decide before I know if Alice will love me and consent to marry me. I have to choose without any certainties. Alice is never coming back to Wonderland. Is she? If I choose to return to Wonderland, I won't see her again." My brow furrowed unhappily.  
  
The man shook his head, slowly. "No. There are other things planned for Wonderland. Alice is not part of those plans. She's done her duty. Our world's been hers for years and now it has to be someone else's."  
  
"Whose?" I wondered, but the young, golden man would not answer. "How long do I have to make the decision."  
  
"Until you find Alice again." He rose, smoothly. "I'm sorry. I know this isn't the fairest of games. Reality never is."  
  
He walked to the door and opened it for me. As I started past him, I realized who he was and smiled, wanly. "Take care, Griffin," I intoned.  
  
"Best of luck to you, Cat. Choose well," he answered, and I stepped back out into the corridor. 


	12. Chapter 12

I searched the corridors for any sign of Alice. Some direction, some clue, _anything_ to provide me with a place to go. Screams and stench and sorrow crowded against me. Something was lurking here, a danger to me far greater than anything I'd known in Wonderland. I became suffused with a hard anxiety and a desperate need to be ree of this place. Then, I reasoned, that was everyone's feeling here. Even the doctors.

At that moment, a doctor himself maneuvered around a hall corner and espied me. I froze, ready to either plunge my scalpel into his chest or run as soon as he called for orderlies. It surprised me, then, to see him simply nod to me. "I doubted you'd stay in your room long," he said implacably.

"Who are you?" I asked, a note of sibilant mistrust coloring the query.

"Dr. Wilson. Transfer from Oxford. Alice is my patient."

Without thinking, I was upon him, my hand closing around his throat and my body propelling his backward to slam ungracefully against a wall. "You're responsible," I growled. "Those burns to her temples and those drugs hollowing her from the inside out. You monster – I out to crush your windpipe."

He squirmed, cracking down breaths jaggedly and gripping my wrist. "She'd…not need those drugs, those shock treatments, if you'd have left well enough alone…" he gurgled.

My eyes widened and I snapped my hand back, releasing him. He slumped, coughing violently. When some semblance of normalcy returned to his breathing, he looked up at me, still hunched and shaking. "You call _me_ a monster? You selfish brute – you called her back to you even though she was broken and shattered from the fire. You thought _nothing_ of her suffering. All you cared for was using her to gain back your world for you."

"What the deuce are you talking about?" I said, aghast. "What fire?"

"Alice was brought here because her mental state was completely unraveled. You knew that. You knew her grief over the loss of her family, and yet you furthered her madness." Wilso dragged himself upright again, glaring darkly at me. "I've heard her talk about you. I've heard her."

"Family?" I was barely able to echo what the doctor was saying. "Fire?"

I didn't know. She never told me.

"Not in so many words," Wilson rebutted, plucking the thoughts from my head. "But you're the Cat. You're meant to know without being told."

And then I remembered her words. _Everything I love dies unnaturally…_

"Why did you _think_ she was in Rutledge's?" Wilson accused.

"Because her world tortures anyone who doesn't behave exactly as your rigid standards dictate," I scoffed. "You crush any deviation of behavior, no matter how benign." My voice was no longer so sure. Something terrible was happening, here. Something terrible, indeed.

"She became catatonic. She wouldn't move or speak. She wouldn't respond to any stimuli, not even to eat or tend to necessary bodily functions. You call that a 'benign behavioral deviation'?" Wilson rubbed gingerly at his throat, eyes locked on mine.

"I didn't _know_," I hissed. And then, I realized what it must have done to her – believing I knew her suffering and seeing me act so coldly, so unconcerned.

"Now you know," Wilson batted at me, just as coldly. "Alice _was_ mad. Truly, clinically insane. You and Wonderland only served to make it worse."

"Saving Wonderland cured her," I told him bluntly. "Without us, she'd still be strapped to that cell bed, being filled with laudanum."

"Wonderland's rescue was nothing more than a mirror to her recovery," countered the doctor stalwartly. "The former was the product of the latter, not the other way around."

"You lie," I growled.

"_This_ is the reality. Your world reflect _ours_, Cat. And that's why you're here, isn't it? Because you know that. You know that you must make things right _here_, or else nothing can be right in Wonderland." He sighed low and looked away. "If you'd realized that, realized what she had gone through in reality years ago, things might have gone very differently for the lady. She might have had a chance at a happy life, instead of the shell of one she has now."

"I didn't know…" I repeated, but it was feeble, so feeble.

"Someone in Wonderland _did_ know." Dr. Wilson's eyes sparked. "Someone knew, and used it against her."

"Wh-…" But I knew. I knew. My eyes stormed back at Wilson, my hands curling into fists. I could feel rage such as I never felt railing inside me.

"_Jabberwock_."


	13. Interlude & Invitation

To the readers of Her Side of the Looking-Glass:

I am participating in Blogathon 2006, an event in which people post to their blogs once every half hour for a full twenty-four hours. These intrepid bloggers are usually sposored by fans, friends and family, a certain amount per post or a lump sum. All proceeds go to charity.

I am blogging for First Book, which gives low-income families a chance to start a personal library for their children. As incentive for people to sponsor me and help me raise money for this marvelous cause, I am comitting to finishing the serial. However, how quickly the story is finished is up to those who sponsor. If I garner $100.00 in sponsor ship, I will post one chapter a month. $250.00 will see a chapter posted twice a month, and $500.00 will have one chapter per week. IN ADDITION, anyone who sponsors me for over $10.00 in the Blogathon will receive a bonus denoument chapter that will be unavailable to the general public.

The link for sponsorship is here: http/ blog, if you need to look it up, is Floatin' Through the Aether.

Thank you again for all the wonderful praise and encouragement. Let's see if we can put Alice and the Cat to some good use, hm?

-Penny Dreadful


	14. Chapter 13

"Both the Queen and the Jabberwock were aware of reality," Wilson informed me curtly, still seeming rather wary of being near me. "A sorry state, indeed, when it used to be something reserved only for Guides."

"Guides?" I was both intrigued and impatient – I want to find Alice, but part of me understood that something crucial was being discovered here.

"Denizens of Wonderland assigned to assist outsiders who visited," defined Dr. Wilson crisply. "They were omniscient; they had to be. But there's much more to all _that_, you know. I'm simply not the one to explain it."

Again, that prickle of rancor. "Then who? Who? Nonsense is one thing, but mystery is not something I can tolerate."

"Now is not the time, Cat. You must find Alice. She is in greater danger than you can imagine. Someone wants the slate wiped clean. I fear her time is running out. If you love her at all, if you care anything for her, find her and take her far from here. Never mention Wonderland again, to anyone. Never go back. The wheels, the cogs, are turning once again."

I stared in mute shock. The doctor's voice seemed not his own. "Where can I find her?" I managed, finally.

"Room 17," he replied quietly. "Leave here quickly."

I ran down the corridors, counting numbers of cells and finally found number seventeen. Wrenching it open, I saw Alice's huddled form – her lovely gown ruined, her hair undone and tousled, one of her gloved missing. I dashed to her side and eased her to standing. For a moment, she stared at me, stunned.

"_Eleven_," she whispered. "_Eleven is coming._"

"Darling, we're leaving," I murmured and effortlessly lifted her into my arms. "We're leaving, and we're never coming back." Carrying her, I walked from the cell and down the hallway until I passed from the lobby out onto the stoop. The carriage was still waiting. I did not once look over my shoulder as I brought Alice to the hansom, and I ignored the startled grunt the driver gave as he saw Alice's state. "Go!" I shouted at him, and he touched the whip to the horses even before I was fully inside the cab. We sped away from the asylum and I cradled Alice against me. She shuddered once, then lapsed into unconsciousness.

When we arrived again at the boarding house, I saw to it that Alice was put comfortably to bed. Then, I went down to the parlor, took a glass of brandy and sat by the hearth, thinking. What had happened? She had seen something, experienced something that had undone her. What had occurred while I was looking for my own demons? I'd been a fool to think my personal conflicts important. Once again, I was putting my own wants before hers – just as I'd always done. Well, no more. No –

"Mr. Cheshire?"

The voice startled me out of my reverie. I looked up to see a gentleman in greycoat and gloves smiling faintly at me. He was distinguished and handsome, and vaguely familiar. I nodded, mute, and he offered a small bow. "I made inquiries at your company office in London – they told me you'd come here to Devon. Please forgive my tenacity in finding you, but the matter is somewhat urgent."

"Ah. Of course, of course. Please sit, Mr. ..." The familiarity was fleeing. Perhaps he was just the model English gentleman and would fit the profile anywhere.

"Sutherland. Dr. Sutherland, of Oxford," he answered, and claimed the chair across from mine. "I'm the Director of Psychology at the school."

I blinked. "Truly? And what does a doctor of psychology want with Jabberwock Ltd." I knew already. And it was providential.

"I'm interested in buying Rutlege Asylum, Mr. Cheshire," he replied. "I'd like to refurbish it and open it again as a semi-private institution with backing from the University. Our graduate students have no place to intern, and I thought the asylum would be ideal. I assume you have no plans for it – I was informed that the purchase was made hastily and that the shareholders had let it go for a low price. I think I can ensure a satisfactory profit on the building."

I smiled wryly. "As a matter of fact, Doctor, I am very eager to sell. Profit has become only a marginal concern. How soon could you take the asylum off my hands?"

"Oh, well, as early as tomorrow, if you're willing to have my solicitor visit you," Sutherland replied, surprised. "But, naturally, I don't want to insist on an immediate answer. Are you certain you don't need more time?"

"Perfectly certain," I answered firmly. "Have your man come by at two o'clock tomorrow. I'll have the deed and keys ready."

"Two o'clock," Sutherland echoed, nodding faintly. "Thank you, Mr. Cheshire. I'm very pleased this all will go smoothly, and quite excited for the asylum's prospects." He rose and turned away, then glanced over his shoulder. "There's...there's nothing _wrong_ with the building, by any chance?"

"Only for those who have reason to find wrongs with it," I replied, lapsing back into my cryptic quirk.

Sutherland regarded me for a moment, then took his leave.

I slept soundly for most of the night. Just before dawn, I was awakened by the sudden sound of a grinding gear. When I opened my eyes, nothing was there.

In the morning, I visited Alice and was surprised to see she had no memory of her visit to Rutledge's. Rather than try and rekindle the upset, I told her I'd decided to sell the asylum. She seemed pleased and relieved. I, too, was pleased to see her so well recovered.

"Then I'll be returning to London and my aunt's home immediately," she told me. "And you must go back to Wonderland."

The pleasure died instantly.


End file.
